


An Angel's Wrath (or At Least He's Trying)

by soongtypeprincess



Series: South Downs Retirement [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Family Feels, Found Family, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Silly, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess
Summary: Adam hated knowing that he had caused them so much stress this evening, particularly Aziraphale, whom he greatly admired for his kindness. Now, he had felt like he had taken advantage of that, and the guilt crushed him.





	An Angel's Wrath (or At Least He's Trying)

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted on my Tumblr (ineffable-bisexual) so I thought I would share it here, too.
> 
> This was a random head canon that turned into a silly ficlet.
> 
> I like the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale being Adam’s uncles/godfathers, and he stays with them for a few weeks every summer at their South Downs cottage.
> 
> I love writing any kind of kid-fic(let) so I hope you enjoy this loving, ridiculous found family.
> 
> I do NOT own these characters!

“You’re in big trouble, Adam Young! Running off like that without telling us where you were? What were you bloody thinking??”

Crowley put Adam’s bicycle into the boot of the Bentley.

“I didn’t count on getting lost!” Adam exclaimed “You’d think a bike trail would have signs posted on how to get out of it.”

“You should have taken Dog, then.”

Adam threw up his arms and huffed. “He would have slowed me down and I wanted to explore! Dog takes his time sniffing everything.”

“ _Really_ , Adam?” He was not convinced.

“Really! I’m telling the truth!”

Crowley opened the passenger door. “Get in.”

Adam sighed and got into the Bentley. He blinked when the door shut hard. 

Crowley started the car and veered onto the paved road.

After a quiet moment, he addressed Adam in a gentler tone, “A note would have been nice; then I wouldn’t have had to drive all over the village.”

Adam smirked and looked down at his hands in his lap. “The only thing to write on are old books and I can’t touch them.”

Crowley sighed. “That’s not true.” He glanced at him. “Do you not feel welcome here?”

“It’s not that, Uncle Ant. I like it out here; I really do.” Adam looked out of the window. “I just…get bored sometimes.”

“I know you miss your friends,” Crowley said.

“Pepper was going to come with me,” Adam explained, “but then she found out about a young woman’s, uh…empowerment conference thing…and her mum took her there.” He sniffed and glanced back at him. “But it’s okay. She really wanted to go, and I wasn’t going to bug her about it.”

Crowley huffed with a grin. “I wouldn’t either, kiddo. She’s one firecracker I wouldn’t want to step on.”

“She’s not mean, Uncle Ant. She’s empowered.”

“You’re right, lad. I didn’t mean any harm.”

Adam leaned back into his seat. “Just…when I get bored, I get restless.”

“You’re thirteen. It’s understandable.” He sighed. “Uncle Ezra and I can be quite stuffy, can’t we? Well…not so much  _me_.”

He smiled when he heard Adam giggle. “But you can talk to us. I know it’s  secluded where we are; it is after all, our retirement. But no need to walk on eggshells, yeah? We’re not  _that_  old.”

Adam grinned, and soon they pulled up in front of the cottage.

They got out of the car and Crowley was met with arms around his torso. He squeezed Adam back in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

Crowley patted his head. “Never mind. Just don’t do it again, okay?”

Adam nodded.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Right, a warning: when I left, Ezra was  _very_  upset.”

Adam hated knowing that he had caused them so much stress this evening, particularly Aziraphale, whom he greatly admired for his kindness. Now, he had felt like he had taken advantage of that, and the guilt crushed him.

“How upset?”

“Well, he’s not much connected to Heaven anymore to summon the wrath of God…but it was pretty close. If I were you, I would at least expect the rack.”

Crowley opened the boot and lifted out Adam’s bicycle. “Go put this in the shed.”

Adam lingered for a moment, however, and watched him go inside.

He exhaled and thought about the impending use of medieval torture.

——————

“Crowley?” came Aziraphale’s voice from his study. “Is that you? Please tell me you’ve found him.”

Footsteps rushed to the kitchen and before Crowley could give him an answer, Aziraphale gasped. “Oh, Lord, you’re alone? Where could he be? Crowley, we have to keep—”

“He’s alright, angel,” Crowley calmed him, putting his hands on his shoulders. “He’s putting away his bicycle and he’s in one piece. Appears he got lost trying to find his way back.”

Aziraphale sighed with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. That poor thing…”

—————–

Do angel wings light on fire when they’re angry? Adam wondered. 

It’s what he expected: Aziraphale’s wings greeting him, both aflame.

Adam’s hand hovered over the side door that led into the kitchen.

He guessed the rack wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Uncle Ezra would take pity on him and just sentence him to the Iron Maiden.

—————

Aziraphale instantly embraced him when he entered the kitchen, and Adam was so taken aback, the breath was knocked out of him.

“You poor dear! Uncle Anthony told me about losing your way on the bike trail. Ugh! I’ve been after the councilman about proper signage, but no, Mr. Fell, there’s no grant money at this time. What a horrid man! I know just where he can find that grant money and it’s right up his—”

“Angel, please!” Crowley stopping him with frown. “You’re smothering the boy.”

Aziraphale held Adam in front of him. “Sorry, lad,” he said as he cupped the boy’s face. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

He then noticed how wet Adam’s eyes had become. 

“Oh, darling, are you traumatized?”

“You’re probably frightening him,” Crowley muttered.

Adam shook his head. “Uncle Ant said that you were very angry,” he said, his voice croaking to hold back his tears. “He said you summoned the wrath of God.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he shot a cold glare at Crowley, who pretended to examine a scuff on his boot.

His glare melted as he turned back to Adam. “My dear boy, never, in my entire existence, have I  _ever_  had to summon the wrath of the Almighty.”

“He said something about putting me on the rack, too.”

“It was a joke, lad!” Crowley exclaimed. “I was trying to–”

“Really, Crowley!” Aziraphale interjected. “I would never lay a hand on him, much less punish him with an Inquisition-era instrument!”

Adam wiped his cheeks. “So…I’m  _not_  being punished?”

“Damn straight, you’re being punished.” 

Crowley and Adam’s eyes widened at Aziraphale’s decree. 

“You’re grounded, young man,” he continued, pulling at his waistcoat with authority. “For two—no,  _three_  days.”

Crowley smirked and tried not to giggle. They weren’t used to being guardians to a teen, but they were trying.

“Instead of being bored, you can help me in the garden. I’ve got about twenty tulip bulbs that need planting, but the beds need a good weeding first.”

Adam, still unsure of his sentence, gave Crowley a confused look.

Crowley only shrugged, still trying not to laugh.

“Also,” the angel continued, “I’m still sorting my old stock from the book shoppe, and you will help me catalog them.”

“Really?” Adam asked, intrigued.

Aziraphale stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Problem?” he asked, his parental air not letting go.

“No, I wouldn’t mind helping you with that. I love your old books.”

A snicker escaped Crowley and Aziraphale huffed. “Well… _really_?”

Aziraphale was used to being the only person who loved his books.

“Yeah!” Adam said, and Aziraphale softened as he grinned.

“Well…right, then. That’s your punishment. So…” He cleared his throat. “You must be hungry.”

“Starving!”

“Well, go wash up and I’ll make you one of those bacon sandwiches you like so much.”

Adam left the kitchen and Aziraphale turned to Crowley, who finally released his giggles.

“You’re next, dear boy.” 

Crowley laughed harder. “What’ll it be then? Thumb screws? Drawing and quartering?”

“I’ll make you listen to my poetry.”

“But, I  _like_ your poetry.”

Aziraphale shook his head with a sly smirk. “My  _early_  poetry.”

Crowley grimaced. “You wouldn’t?”

The angel raised his eyebrows and opened the refrigerator for the slab of bacon.


End file.
